


Fallen King

by Thefandomwolf



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Analysis, Dream Smp, Eret Redemption (Video Blogging RPF), Eret-centric, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Loneliness, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP Spoilers (Video Blogging RPF), Multiple Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Self-Reflection, the others are only mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:48:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27707876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thefandomwolf/pseuds/Thefandomwolf
Summary: Eret has been dethroned by Dream. No longer king, he reflects on how he got here, all his mistakes, his regrets, and if there is any hope for him in the future. The weight of everything they have done, and not done, hangs heavy on their shoulders.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 88





	Fallen King

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place right after the final war and subsequent explosion of L'manburg. If you did not watch Eret's POV or were not informed somehow, Dream dethroned Eret for choosing to side with Pogtopia and his friends. Eret fought alongside Pogtopia/L'manburg but he is now powerless. Here is what I think would have happened "after the cameras turned off" so to speak. A quick but heavy reflection upon Eret's past, present, and future. He thinks about his mistakes and his loneliness.

Eret held the crown loosely in his hands. His thumb slowly rubbed over one of the colorful jewels adorning it. The stone wall was cold and unforgiving pressed against his back. He stared out into the wide, vacant room, not fully present in the space. She knew she probably shouldn’t be sitting in the Throne Room like a waiting duck. Anyone of the Dream SMP members could walk in right now: Punz, Callahan, god forbid Dream or George. George, the new king, and Dream, the one with all the power. It had happened so quick, one second it felt like everyone was crowding around him, the next he was alone, so utterly alone. 

The second they finally left she had grabbed a pickaxe. He’ll admit, he hesitated, before angrily swinging the pick down again, and again, and again until the throne was gone. Everything was gone. They shoved the shards and bits into chests before running off to fight. But now the war was over, L’manburg was a crater, hollow. Eret didn’t feel much different honestly. He slowly walked back to his castle covered in dust, sweat, cuts, and a sense of numbness.  
He wearily entered his castle and stumbled inside. Dream had said he was allowed to stay in the castle, but the throne was now George’s, the title of King was George’s, everything was now George’s. 

Allowed? He was allowed to stay in his own castle? He built it with his own two hands, with no help from anyone! He spent months gathering materials and putting it all together, bestowing it with colors and details that felt welcoming and comfy, even with no one else there to appreciate it. He was proud of what he had built. He was always proud of what he could put together. Whether the walls be made of stone brick or black stone. The L’manburg walls were torn down, they might have well as torn down his castle’s walls as well, it would probably hurt less than watching others step into the halls as if they owned it. Well, they guess the others do own it now. Like Dream said, he was allowed to stay here. Not live here, stay, because at any moment Dream could decide to kick him out. 

A small part of them says they should be thankful they are still allowed to be here. It could be worse. He could have kicked you out, leaving you with no supplies. Where would you have gone then? Sure, the others say they know you’re on their side but would any of them actually let you stay with them? Would they trust you enough not to stab them in the back while they’re sleeping? Would they try to make up some excuse to awkwardly say no, or worse, would they say yes out of kindness and pity and remain awake all night in fear of what you’re capable of. 

He clenches closed his eyes tight, trying to get rid of those thoughts. His grip on the crown tightens, the metal bites into his skin but he doesn’t relax his hold. He thought he couldn’t fuck up any worse after betraying L’manburg, his friends, his family. He thought he might be able to help them after the election of Schlatt. She knew they probably wouldn’t forgive her but it was the least she could do, but they turned her down, of course, they did, they had every reason to distrust her. It hurt, but she still wanted to help, she thought her kingship might be of use for once. But of course, it never meant anything. Eret thinks he always knew that, the crown was never really anything but the sign of a traitor. And now he doesn’t even have that, not really. The crown is now also the sign of a false king, an imposter. They can’t do anything of use for their friends. All they have left is the castle itself, which isn’t even technically theirs. 

Luckily George didn’t seem too interested in staying in the castle, otherwise, Eret is sure he would have been kicked out or forced to share with George. Still, that doesn’t mean he or any others won’t storm in at any moment, they have made it pretty clear they feel like they own the place now. It makes the castle feel like its holding its breath, waiting for someone to intrude on what is his, his home, his safety. It doesn’t feel like his anymore. He feels like a stranger in his own place. He hates it. He hates it so much. He hates the feeling. He hates dream, he hates George, he hates this whole stupid war, he hates Wilbur and Technoblade, he hates Dream SMP, and Manburg, and L’manburg, it hates it all. He hates himself. 

Tears finally start sliding down his cheeks. He’s just tired. He’s tired of feeling like this. He’s tired of not being able to do anything. He’s tired of feeling powerless. He’s tired of being alone. God, he’s so fucking alone.

A rough, watery laugh slips out past his lips, he misses those stupid flamingos Fundy put in his base. They were a bit bothersome, there were so many everywhere that it made walking through the castle a bit of a task, but they reminded him that someone didn’t hate him, not completely at least. Someone was thinking of them, even as they sat up in their castle all alone in silence with no one around, others still thought of them. He hated to admit that he cried the night of Fundy’s prank as the realization that Fundy thought of him even when not right in front of him, even if it just was to pull some childish prank. Fundy didn’t completely hate him if he built bright pink birds everywhere instead of trying to tear anything down. A ball formed in his throat, tight and sad and painful. It hurt to breathe past it. They were all gone. Fundy’s reminders that he didn’t hate him, that he remembered him, all destroyed like they didn’t matter, like they were annoying. Did they not understand how important they were? Or did Dream realize exactly how much they meant to Eret? She doesn’t know which is worse, which is sadder. 

It doesn’t matter now, they were gone. Fundy would be too busy rebuilding L’manburg to spend time pulling a prank like that again. Even if Fundy did replace all the flamingos or did another sort of prank George would probably order his squire to take them all down. Eret swallowed painfully, no more reminders. 

He was still alone. Alone, but anxious for someone to arrive, but not anyone who he actually wanted to show up. No Niki to visit with some warm bread and a soft smile. No Fundy with a smirk and a mischievous glint in his eye. No Tubbo, oh Tubbo. He wanted to see Tubbo trod up the stairs and smile at him, somehow still radiating youth and hope.   
She tried to help him while he was working under Schlatt. The boy always seemed tired, always running around fulfilling orders. She tried to stop him, make him take a break, get some rest, eat some food, hell, let her complete the task, but Tubbo just wearily smiled and shook his head and continued on. They felt bad, they could have done more for the kid. Why didn’t they do more for him? He suffered so much at the hands of that cruel dictator, and they just watched, wishing something would change but never doing anything to change it. 

Maybe Dream was right, maybe they are just a figurehead, a body to sit on the throne and say nothing. They certainly played the part for long enough. They sat on their throne doing absolutely nothing, like a god damn fool. A coward. He may have only officially betrayed L’Manburg once, but every time he sat on his ass and let one of his friends get hurt, he was betraying them again. 

He wanted to make it right, he wanted to redeem himself. She had promised Tommy all that time ago that she had resources to give, land to share, power to their decisions and choices. That is no longer true. Dream won’t listen to him anymore, he has no say in anything. He cannot swing a vote, influence a decision, make any choices. He wonders if he ever did have any of that power or if Dream was just that good at manipulating his reality. What use are they to their friends now? They can offer nothing. They feel useless. They are useless. They just want to help their friends. Are they allowed to call them their friends? They want to help everyone they possibly can, but they can’t. 

He doesn’t know what to do. They open their eyes to look down upon their crown with watery vision. His mouth pulls into a grim line. This has brought nothing but pain. They never should have betrayed their friends. He never should have let Dream sway him to his side with claims of riches and royalty. He shouldn’t have let Dream boss him around. Why didn’t he stand up for himself? Why didn’t he do anything? Why has he never done anything of use? Of any good? Her chest tightens with anger and fury. Rage at herself, her actions, her inaction, Dream, and his stupid server. He unleashes it all with a roar and hurls the crown away from him. The metal cracks as it hits the stone wall. 

They push themself off the floor and stand up, their shoulders squared and chin raised. Even without the golden symbol sitting on their head, they radiate the energy of a pissed-off king. “No more!” They yell, to themself, to Dream, to the world. They are seething, their chest pumps up and down with hot huffs of air. L’Manburg will not fall to dream after his friends just got their nation back. His friends will not kneel or perish by Dream’s hand. They will not allow it. They’re done with sitting back, done with being neutral, done with just being a pretty face on a useless throne. They’re going to do something about this all damn it! Even if it kills them, it will be a cause worth dying for. He storms out of the throne room, heading for the large castle doors, not even glancing at the cracked crown laying lifelessly on the floor.


End file.
